Big Mike Fireside Chats:  Father to Son
by Night Lotus Blossom
Summary: Second in the "Big Mike Fireside Chats" series.  Big Mike and Morgan have a father/son chat.


**Title**: Father to Son  
**Author**: Night_Lotus  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word Count: **2,565  
**Chapter: **1/1  
**Disclaimer: **I neither own "Chuck" nor its marvelous characters, but because of the creative genius of Chris Fedak and Joshua Schwartz, I have the opportunity to play in their sandbox.  
**Summary**: Second in the "Big Mike Fireside Chats" series. Big Mike and Morgan have a father/son chat.  
**Author's Note**: Contains spoilers through Season 4 of "Chuck." The content of this story is somewhat AU and deviates from the scenes that occurred in episode 4.05. I hope you're having as much fun reading this series as I am writing it.

The two men, one big and bald, the other short and bearded entered the formal wear store, dress shoes in their hands. They were on a mission.

As they crossed the threshold, they were greeted with headless mannequins modeling almost every conceivable style of tuxedo and suit. Mingling with the motionless fashion show was the mouthwatering smell of masa and pulled pork wafting through the air. Both men gave a simultaneous moan of approval as they searched for the source of the heavenly scent, locating a small, yet pristine eating area set in the very back of the store, through an archway. Only in West Hollywood could you dig into some tasty eats after being fitted for your tux or suit; hence, the name of the place, Tuxedos and Tamales.

"Son, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we're gonna get to that tasty grub," Big Mike reasoned, propelling a reluctant Morgan Grimes forward toward the service desk in the center of the store. Neither of them wanted to be there trying on monkey suits, but since the wedding date was looming large, a little more than a month away, the big man was going to make the most of it. While he was here, he was going to get fitted for the finery selected by his lady love, sample some of those tasty-smelling tamales and have a sit down with his son-to-be.

"Orders for Michael Tucker and Morgan Grimes, Edward," Mike requested, reading the nametag of the man behind the counter.

"Certainly, sir," the immaculately coiffed gentleman responded, before walking a short distance to his left, disappearing through an "Employees Only" door.

Big Mike set soulful eyes on the tamale shop in the back, while Morgan pined for Halo Reach, itching to press play and wake up the game currently slumbering in his Xbox.

"Mr. Tucker, Mr. Grimes," Edward addressed the two, handing each of them the freshly pressed garments on hangers, which were encased in cellophane bags. The men had emailed their measurements to the store a few weeks previously with the hope that their tuxes would need few to no alterations. "The dressing rooms are to your immediate left, along the wall," Edward said, motioning with his hand.

The men entered adjacent rooms and began the task of undressing and putting on the seemingly endless layers of clothing. Morgan was just finishing tucking in the starched white shirt and zipping his fly when he heard grunting noises coming from the fitting room next door. He edged cautiously to the wall separating the two rooms, listening carefully. Then it came again, a strained, groaning sound. "You okay in there, Big Mike?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah," came the out-of-breath reply. "I knew I shouldn't have finished off the dozen that Barnes and Patel left in my office. Hmmph! Trying to get on my good side after I caught the two of them playing strip poker in the break room. That's a sight no grown man should **ever** have to see."

Morgan unsuccessfully fought to keep the images of Jeff and Lester in various states of undress out of his head. "Uh, do you need any help?"

"Nah, I've got it," Big Mike replied as he forced the button into the hole and started to coerce the zipper into compliance. Morgan winced as he was shrugging on his tuxedo jacket and heard the audible shriek of a zipper as the other man finished fastening his pants.

The two emerged, fully outfitted, at the same time, walking the short distance to the three-way mirror, which was adjacent to the row of dressing rooms. Morgan was struggling to adjust his bowtie when Big Mike's hands appeared at his throat. "Here, son, let me get that for you." The more experienced man adjusted the jumbled fabric easily and centered the now perfectly-formed bow.

"Thanks." While Morgan was grateful for the assistance, the extra stiff starched collar was starting to make his neck itch, and the inside of the tuxedo felt like a blast furnace.

Bolonia had chosen a rich shade of bright purple for the bridesmaids' dresses and the groom and groomsmen's tuxedos, symbolizing, in living color, her and Big Mike's passionate love for each other. Morgan was dressed in a traditionally cut tuxedo. The purple pants, matching bow tie and jacket were accentuated with a vest embroidered in a black and purple paisley pattern, worn over a pleated, snowy white starched shirt. He looked down at the shiny black shoes on his feet. It was the only small color concession allowed by his mother.

He did a slow spin, assessing the couture from every angle. While the tuxedo fit just fine, he sighed when he looked at his backside. "Great, I look like a grape. You on the other hand, Big Mike, look absolutely stunning," Morgan complimented, secretly envious that the garish color looked so good on his soon-to-be step father.

The big man stood up a bit taller, preening as he smoothed the lapels of his jacket, proud of his appearance. The long-tailed zoot suit-style tuxedo truly complimented his features and fit him to a tee, with the exception of the too-snug pants.

Instead of a bowtie, a pale pastel purple tie rested against the white shirt. It was the perfect accompaniment, and no vest was required. He was already mourning the loss of his daily doughnuts and lamenting the many hours of exercise he would have to clock to get the pants to fit properly. But, he was determined to do it himself and not have the pants let out.

"Mr. Tucker, your accessories," Edward intoned, handing him the black bowler hat and matching black silver-tipped cane, the sterling handle sculpted in the shape of a lion's head.

Morgan scratched at the irritation that was spreading like wildfire along his neck. "You're going to truly knock mom off her feet, big man!"

"I'm lucky to have such a good woman, and I will be proud to call her my wife," Big Mike returned. "Speaking of good women, I've seen you giving John Casey's daughter the eye."

"What? No! Alex and I are just friends," Morgan protested, tugging nervously on the sleeves of his jacket, a pink blush appearing on the exposed skin above his beard.

"Don't deny it son, and don't be embarrassed. You have good taste. She is a fine young lady. But, before you stand a chance with that girl, you have to make peace with her daddy. And, you already know that ain't gonna be no easy task."

Morgan brushed an invisible piece of lint off of his amethyst-colored lapel, waving away the other man's words of caution. "Casey and I are all good now."

Big Mike turned to Morgan, placing his huge, fisted hands on his hips. "Don't be flippant, Grimes. This is a serious matter. Don't make the fatal mistake of confusing Casey's grudging acceptance of you in the workplace as a signed permission slip to date his daughter."

"I'll be a true California raisin by the end of the ceremony," Morgan muttered, as he shimmied out of the blazing hot jacket. "Why did mom pick Joshua Tree National Park as the location for the ceremony, anyway?"

Big Mike absently stroked the lion's head topping his cane, with his thumb, as his face softened, and he got a faraway, dreamy look in his eyes. He placed his other hand over his heart. "That is where your mama and I first discovered the great outdoors and made sweet, unfettered love under the stars. And that's why, son, we are having the ceremony anywhere that wonderful woman wants."

"TMI, TMI, waaaay too much information," the jumble of words tumbled out of Morgan's mouth as a he clutched his stomach and feigned a puking sound. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Don't be an idiot!" the bald man snapped, slapping the wiry, bearded one upside the head. "We need to strategize and find a way for you to get the girl without there being only a bloody, bearded grease spot left behind to mourn."

"I don't know, Big Mike. Casey's pretty adamant about no one dating his daughter, especially me."

"He already knows you're afraid of him, so we have that part taken care of," said Mike, checking that item off of his mental list. He stepped closer to Morgan, who looked up at him, listening.

"Now, if you don't want to risk your life every time you're in Alex's presence, here is what you need to do," he instructed, putting an arm around Morgan's shoulders, warming up to the topic.

"While it may be hard for us to conjure, there is a person buried somewhere under those angry grunts. If you can get past all of those muscles and intimidating behavior, you'll see the true man, his true essence, as naked as a newborn baby." Morgan shuddered at the thought of a naked Casey.

"Focus, Grimes," Big Mike ordered, slapping him on the shoulder to regain his attention. "He's been where you are now, son. And, as hard as it may be to imagine, he too has experienced the beautiful awakening of a new, untainted love."

"On the outside, he's a loner," Big Mike continued. "But, deep down, he wants to be part of the group. So, ask for his help with Alex, respect his opinion and include him. Don't keep him in the dark."

"So, you're saying that I'm just supposed to walk up to him and say 'Oh, hey, Casey I need some tips for dating your daughter?' You've got to be kidding me," Morgan boggled, his eyes bugging out of his face.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Big Mike replied with a smile on his face, clapping Morgan companionably on the back. "I'm glad we understand each other. Now, let's get out of this gear and grab us some of those tamales," he said, heading for the dressing room.

After they changed back into their street clothes and left the tuxedos with Edward for a final pre-wedding dry cleaning and pressing, they made their way to the back of the store and their delicious reward.

Over spicy, succulent tamales and ice cold bottles of Dos Equis, the two decided that as soon as Big Mike dropped Morgan off at his Echo Park condo, the younger man would immediately visit Casey and throw himself on the other man's mercy. No stopping and definitely no passing Go.

On the way home, Morgan sent Chuck a quick text message, bequeathing him all of his Xbox games and gear, just in case. He wasn't sure if a text message was legally binding, but he knew his best friend will appreciate the sentiment.

As Big Mike pulled the car into the condo complex, the engine still idling, Morgan remained silent, sending up a desperate and quickly-worded prayer to heaven. "Be a man and do what needs to be done." Big Mike gave Morgan's shoulder a quick squeeze of encouragement. "And, remember what I said; don't show any weakness, and for God's sake don't let him smell your fear."

Morgan turned to his mentor and the only real father figure in his life, with a cautious smile pasted on his face. "Make sure they serve grape soda at my funeral," he joked, mostly serious. "You can serve it with straws in the can to dress it up a bit," he suggested, his smile faltering.

After uttering his final words, Buy More manager and spy extraordinaire, Morgan Guillermo Grimes, stepped out of the car, squaring his shoulders, closing the door soundly behind him. He walked resolutely to John Casey's door, head held high, fisted hands clenched at his sides.

Wow, he never realized the number of shapes and phantom images that lived in the wood grain swirls of John Casey's dark mahogany door. He could make out imaginary butterflies, six-legged monsters and giant grasshoppers, and would much rather continue with that exercise than knock on the Colonel's door.

Finally summoning his courage and swallowing the boulder-sized lump in his throat, Morgan raised his fist and rapped his knuckles firmly against the wood. There was no answer. _Phew_. He let the air he had been holding rush out of his lungs. _He isn't home_. _Dodged that bullet_.

He walked across the courtyard to his own door and put the key in the lock. "What do you want Grimes?" "Shit," Morgan muttered under his breath and turned to see John Casey standing in the doorway of his condo, arms folded impatiently over his broad chest.

Managing to pull off what he hoped appeared to be a confident, yet friendly smile, Morgan walked the short distance to Casey's condo. Casey didn't budge, his entire bulk filling the door frame. Morgan's Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat as he swallowed down the fear threatening to erupt at any moment. _God the man is massive_. His hands were sweating, and he tried to surreptitiously wipe them on his pants, remembering Big Mike's advice about the smell of fear.

"What do you want, Grimes?" Casey repeated, not moving an inch.

"Is that the way you welcome all of your guests, Casey? That isn't very friendly," the smaller man pointed out with forced bravado.

The large Marine continued to stare down at the pipsqueak, burning a huge hole in the top of his head with his laser-like blue eyes. Casey waited until the tension was thicker than the Southern California smog, enjoying himself, before responding. "Where are my manners, Grimes? Won't you please come in? I'll pour us some tea and set out the cookies." He moved aside, allowing Morgan to enter the condo.

_Uh oh, that's not good_, Morgan thought._ We're starting out with sarcasm_.

After closing the door behind them, Casey retreated to his recliner, sitting down, resuming his closed-body posture. "I don't get many guests," the colonel explained. "The last guests I had were Ring agents, and I tied them up and tortured them over there," he said, gesturing with is chin toward a spot in front of the fireplace. "Still haven't been able to get the stains out entirely. There goes my damage deposit. Now, why are you here Morgan?"

Morgan paced back and forth in front of the man who would soon be deciding whether he lived or died, gathering every last drop of courage he possessed.

"Stop Nancy dancing and spit it out, Grimes," Casey ordered, eyes narrowed, obvious annoyance clouding his features.

The man who was in love with the dark-haired, blue-eyed girl, knelt in front of the hardened assassin, on his knees, bowing his head in the universal sign of supplication. "John, I need your help. I need your help with Alex."

~Fin


End file.
